After the fall
by Bow-Tie Queen
Summary: After the traumatic experiences at the hospital, Moriarty is still alive and now he has placed Sherlock with an offer he cant refuse...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Don't. Be. Dead."

As Sherlock watched in the graveyard as John suddenly started to cry by his grave, he wanted to suddenly run up to him, show him he wasn't dead, that he was fine and that they could go back to Baker Street, solve crimes, blog about it, forget his pants. But that could very well cost John his life.

At St Barts, Molly was clearing up any evidence of him still being alive, paying the homeless society for being his extras, and securing a flight for him to escape to Belgravia. Moriarty was dead, but the snipers had been ordered to shoot John if Sherlock every associated with him again. Ditto Mrs Hudson and Greg. He hadn't said anything about Mycroft, but he decided not to risk it. Molly herself was taking an awful risk helping him out.

Just as he turned to go, he heard a cold and unsettlingly familiar voice behind him.

"You really thing it's all over now, don't you? You really think you escaped."

Moriarty. Sherlock turned to where he had heard the voice and sure enough, he was there, looking as smug and sinister as always. Sherlock was almost speechless.

"You're alive…" he said in a whisper. Moriarty looked down at himself in confusion and then looked up as if he had just got a joke.

"So I am! How very well spotted, Mr consulting detective" Then his smile turned sinister again. "If you think I'm going to give my life for the "incredible" Sherlock Holmes you have another thing coming." He clicked his fingers, and looked behind Sherlock.

Sherlock turned and saw John again. There was a sniper in the tree, very well hidden, about five ft from where John was, the rifle aimed right at John as he sobbed. Sherlock turned quickly and looked at Moriarty, sharply and venomously.

"You promised. You said all I had to do was jump and they would be safe." Moriarty gave a childish smile.

"Yeah, well you see, about that….I LIED!" He said, suddenly evil.

"But there is one thing you can give me, Sherlock. One thing and Poof! Your darling John is safe, along with the old woman and your inspector friend."

Sherlock hesitated for a brief moment, knowing that whatever Moriarty wanted would be cruel, sadistic, and could end very badly for him. Finally he took a deep breath.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his vulnerability showing no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

"Oh nothing _from_ you, honey, just _you_." He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sherlock looked confused.

"I simply want to buy you. Just for a year or two, depends how long you last."

Of course. This had been Moriarty's plan all along. He probably knew that Sherlock would somehow cheat death like always and then make him his until Sherlock died as a result. Much more fun than making him jump off of a cliff.

He looked at John and back at Moriarty.

"What would this entail?"

"Simple. You become my plaything. I can have my fun with you whenever I like, and I get to introduce you to all my friends in the big bad world."

"And John stays alive."

"You have my word."

Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed to make up his mind by stretching out his shaking hand. Moriarty gripped it firmly and the two men shook. As they did, a man who Sherlock recognised as a Mr Sebastian Moran grabbed him and sedated him. Sherlock let out a small cry before slowly blacking out, and wondering what he had just let himself in for.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry! I was meant to post yesterday but things happened. Chapter two!_

Sherlock woke with a groan in a small, damp, dark cell. The walls had black mould and he swore he could see a rat running by his feet; it was too dark to tell. Disgusting.

He noticed that his feet were bare and his shirt was gone, leaving him only his trousers for decency. These deductions only took him a couple of seconds.

'Ah good, you're awake.' Said the cold voice in the darkness. Soon after Moriarty had said this, the lights had flickered on. Beyond the cell was a comfy looking living room, with two arm chairs, a cosy fire place, a dining table and a small coffee table. Above the fire place was a mirror stuck with thousands of notes and mounting the fireplace was a skull, and then he realised.

This was an exact replica of 221B Baker Street.

'Do you like it?' Asked Moriarty when he saw Sherlock staring. 'I thought you would like to feel more at home, seeing as you won't be there again.'

Sherlock looked at him with a menacing stare.

"I think it's only fair you answer my questions."

"Why of course, Sherly, fire away." He said, picking up his tea and taking a sip.

"First of all, where are we?"

"I might as well; I have abolished any possible way for you to have contact with anyone. You're still in London, just I bit further down."

Sherlock looked up and soon figured it out.

"We're in the sewer."

"Very good! Top marks for Sherly."

"Well that explains the vermin." He exclaimed, Picking one up by the tail and tossing it to the other side of the cell.

"Ok, where are my clothes."

"Burnt them." Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Burnt them?"

"Yes. Trust me; you won't need them anymore when you see what I have in store for you." Sherlock shuffled uncomfortably.

"I would worry, honey." Said Moriarty. "There's a first time for everyone."

With that he got up and walked out, turning the light off, so that the only light in the room was from the fireplace.

He took this moment to look around the cell. There was a cracked sink in the corner. When he looked closely it just had a store bought, cheap razor. No toothpaste. No toothbrush. No soap.

By it there was a lavatory with a few harsh napkins, but that was all the furniture in the cell, apart from a thin blanket on the floor. The cell had no windows and only the thick cell bars that went through to the living room.

Sherlock soon realised he was tired. The sedative hadn't quite worn off yet. He sat in the middle of the cell, as far away from the rat as possible and wrapped the blanket round him. He found himself thinking of John as he fell asleep.

John himself was in a bar in Camden. He had planned to stay in that evening, but Mrs Hudson had shooed him out. She was worried about him; no one had seen him for days. He sat at the bar, drinking a rather large pint. He hasn't drunken in ages, he had moved into Baker Street, and met Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock.

He missed Sherlock. He missed his obsession with hygiene, his deductions, the way he always knew what was going on, even those damn nicotine patches. Mrs Hudson had wanted to throw the 'dreadful things' away, but He had convinced her not too

"John!"

John looked up from his pint, but didn't bother to look in the direction of the annoyingly familiar voice.

Anderson.

Anderson took the stool next to him and clapped him on the back so that John flinched.

"Where have you been? Lestrade has been worried about you. Still in mourning over your boyfriend?"

"He isn't my boyfriend."

"Wasn't" Corrected Anderson. "Who cares, he was a git either way, the mental psychopath."

John slammed the pint down.

"What did you say?"

"Oh right, sorry, a 'high functioning sociopath,' whatever. The bastard still kidnapped those-"

Before Anderson could say another word, John had him by the scruff of his shirt and lifted him up. The pub went quiet.

"Sherlock did none of those things. He wouldn't. Do you hear me? Moriarty was real!" he said in Andersons face.

"Christ! When did you get so strong?"

"I was an army doctor." He replied, just before his fist connected with Andersons face, several times.

_Hi! I am so happy that people are reading this and I hope to get them up daily if I have the time, but school is a bitch._


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi guys! THANK YOU for your positive reviews. A couple people have been telling me to make the chapters longer, and I aim to please! _

John was waiting in the Yard. The police had come to break up the fight after John had thrown him out of the pub, and now Greg wanted to talk to him. He felt like a school child being summoned to the headmaster. Sgt Donovan came out with a look of spite on her face and gestured to the door. When he went in he saw her running down the corridor, probably to see Anderson. Little did she know that Andersons wife was home. Oh dear.

When John walked in, Lestrade looked up from his papers and pointed at the chair. John sat comfortably.

"So, had a bit of a tiff with Anderson, eh?" Said Greg. John shuffled a bit. "Really, I wouldn't worry too much about it. I mean, he was asking for it with all the boyfriend stuff." John looked up.

"That's not why I hit him. He said that Sherlock was a psychopath, that he was responsible for Moriarty, for the kidnapped children." Greg's eyes widened slightly but he kept his neutral expression.

"John, look. I know he was your friend, I know you were close and it's hard to believe that he would do these things, but we have all the necessary evidence that Moria-."

"Was real! Just think; think of the cases uninvolved in Moriarty, all those cases before the maniac taxi driver, The ones unrelated to Moriarty like the Baskervilles hound, or the Chinese smugglers, even the little things like Andersons affair with Sgt Donovan and-." Greg's mouth dropped open. "Anderson and Sally?" John gave him a 'are you kidding me?' face. "Oh, Sorry do carry on."

"The little things, like when we first met. He said he researched me, but he didn't even know he was gonna meet me, right? Sherlock Holmes knew I would be his roommate, and the Sherlock Holmes made his deductions." Greg took a few seconds to absorb this information.

"Well, we shall certainly look into it. But I have been thinking these things through too, John. There is a chance he was having us on for years. He got up. "Anderson probably won't press charges. Probably. I would have that lawyer that you used in the asbo case nearby. Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to have a talk with Anderson's wife." He said as he left the office and jogged down the corridor.

John sat for a moment with his head in his hands. Lestrade couldn't be right, could he? No, not possible. He had lived with Sherlock, he knew him better than anyone. He wouldn't do this. He wouldn't…

As he left, saw Anderson's wife yelling obscenities at Anderson and Sally, which lifted him a bit. He got a taxi back to 221B and thought in his head of how he could possibly clear the name of his best friend.

Sherlock slept for about twelve hours. When he woke, Sebastian and Jim were straddled on one of the armchairs, snogging as if there life depended on it. Jim opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock and pulled away from Sebastian.

"My apologies, Sherlock, I didn't see you there. Sebs?" He said looking at his Lover. "Bring him to room 13. We're going to have some fun with him. " He said with a smile and left. Sebastian watched him go, with Lust in his eyes. Then he came to Sherlock's cell, unlocked it and grabbed his curls, dragging him out. Sherlock grunted and Sebastian threw him to the floor whilst he handcuffed him. He then dragged him through the door.

The surroundings changed immediately from the cosy living room (save for the cell by the far wall,) to a dark, dingy passage that's smelt of shit and rats. Above him he saw a grate which led to the streets of London. Sherlock sighed. London, one of the greatest cities in the world. Would he ever see it again?

Sebastian put a knife to his kidney with a harsh: "Don't get any funny ideas." He dragged Sherlock through countless passage ways and ducts whilst Sherlock took a mental note of it all. Soon they got to 'room 13.' It had meat hooks patterning the walls and a rack with some painful looking objects: A hammer, a knife, some bats and, yes he was sure of it, vibrators. He shivered uncomfortably. In the middle of the room was a table with four chains, one at each corner. Sherlock realised what was going on. Before he could react, In walked a naked Moriarty. He smiled sadistically and said:

"Strip him, then on the table."

Sebastian had him on the floor and a pulled his trousers of with the boxers, almost gasping with ecstasy. He then undid Sherlock's handcuffs and grabbed him, (Sherlock was surprised by his strength) and slammed him face up onto the table, fastening his arms and legs. Moriarty came over and circled him slowly. Sherlock was extremely uncomfortable now, not sure how to feel.

"Well well well, who would have thought we'd end up here, eh Shirly?" Sherlock said nothing. "You can talk you know. How is your accommodation suiting you?"

"It's ok, nice touch with the razor." He replied. Moriarty chuckled softly. "Well, we wouldn't want you getting all prickly, now would we?" He said, stroking his cheek caressingly. He then got onto the table and straddled him.

"But enough talking. I want to have my fun with you." He said and ruthlessly his mouth came down on Sherlock's. Sherlock didn't react and kept his lips shut. Moriarty came up, a look of fury on his face. _Oh Christ, what have I done__ if I don't cooperate he'll kill John for sure. _But Moriarty simply grabbed the hammer from the rack, swung, and hit something soft in the centre of Sherlock's body. Sherlock's eyes widened and groaned. Moriarty smiled.

"You see Sherlock, I just don't think you understand, I OWN YOU KNOW!" he yelled, and hit the hammer into Sherlock's ribcage, and Sherlock yelled in pain. "I can do whatever I want to you, AND WHO IS GOING TO STOP ME?" Again the hammer swing and this time hit Sherlock's kneecaps. Sherlock screamed, tears of pain streaming from his eyes. He wondered for a second if anyone above in London could hear him. Moriarty seemed to read his mind.

"I wouldn't worry about anyone interrupting us, I've made these sewers 100% soundproof. Now, ready to continue?" Sherlock closed his eyes and waited, and soon enough Moriarty was on him, softly caressing his lips and Sherlock made no attempt to stop him as he slithered slowly down his body and began. It took over two hours before Moriarty left Sherlock's body on the table. He was covered in bruises from when he had resisted simply as a natural reflex and his ribs and knees were killing him. He took this opportunity to get his breath back. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, Moriarty was dressed, smoking a chesterfields cigarette. Sherlock looked at him with pure rage, snarling into the darkness. Moriarty tutted.

"Now now, Sherlock, no need to get into a hump. You can go now I've had my fun for today." He said in a motherly voice and clicked his fingers. Sebastian came in and after looking hungrily at Sherlock's naked body undid the chains and dragged him off. As they left, Sherlock heard Moriarty behind him.

"By honey. Same time tomorrow."

John was back at the flat, staring into space in his armchair. Mrs Hudson was in the kitchen, humming as she baked. But inside she was worried. John had barely gone out since Sherlock died, and when he did he ended up getting into a fight. She wandered what was going on in that neglected mind of his.

Soon after she had thought this, John's phone buzzed. He picked it up and looked at the screen:

_Don't think I don't know what you're up to. I have found an old friend of yours, visit this address, she may be able to help- MH_

_She._

John got up immediately and grabbed his coat, passport and some cash, and put his shoes on.

"Where in the world are you going?" asked Mrs Hudson, Incredulously. "Bolivia, should only be about five hours." He replied. He kissed her on the cheek and left. Mrs Hudson smiled to herself and carried on baking.

The plane took about three hours' time, and another forty-five minutes to get to where he needed to be. He was in a rundown slum, with old women selling handkerchiefs and farmers with pigs. He went on and found his destination. It was a small sheep farm with a modest looking cottage. He walked past it and onto a field where a woman was standing, watching her sheepdog rounding up her sheep.

"And here was I thinking you were too over qualified to be a sheep farmer, Miss Adler."

_AND THE PLOT THICKENS! More coming soon, I promise!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hi! I'm writing this in school, so if I veer of into cockney dialect, you know why._

Mycroft sat alone in his armchair, staring into the fire. He was used to loneliness. Anethea was his only company, but she didn't really count. He took a forkful of cake, and when it was inches away from his mouth he dropped the fork with a clatter to the floor and put his head in his hands. He missed Sherlock.

Mummy had always favoured Mycroft; you could see that in the family pictures, Father's arm around Mummy's waist, Mummy's arms around Mycroft's neck, Mycroft with a big, beaming smile. And in the corner, Sherlock, looking like an emo from a stereotypical boarding school. Forgotten, uncaring. Mycroft had always tried to take care of his little brother, but Sherlock would never accept his help and became thoroughly lost in thought.

And that day, the one dreadful day

They had been abroad, Morocco, the family, when Sherlock was 10 and Mycroft 13. Sherlock was just as intelligent as Mycroft. But nothing could have stopped what happened next. A small street urchin, English which was what was surprising, ran up to mummy and snatched her bad and ran off. Before anyone could stop him, Sherlock was running after him. Sherlock had never been the most athletic child, but nobody messed with their mother. But Sherlock didn't come back.

Two days later, the police reported they had found Sherlock. Sherlock refused to speak to anyone, not even Mummy, for almost a month, and when we first laid eyes on him he looked almost like a frightened bunny. The first time he spoken in front of us again he was correcting the quiz man on the TV. Mummy was over the moon, hugging him and kissing him, but Sherlock kept fighting him off. He acted like it had never happened, but Mycroft shared a room with him, and knew that every night he would thrash around in bed, crying out softly. From that moment he haad vowed he would always protect Sherlock. He still remembered what he would say: "No, please Jimmy, get off me. Leave me alone. No, please…"

Sherlock was crouching against the wall of his cell, his head on his knees. He wasn't upset about what had happened, nor was he scared about what was to come "same time tomorrow." He was homesick. Looking at his home through the cell bars, _no, this wasn't his home; this was Moriarty's way to drive him mad, _was making it more unbearable. He wanted John, Mrs Hudson, and his laptop.

His stomach growled, bringing him back to reality. He remembered Sebastian had brought him some bread just before he had fallen asleep. Bread would provide Glucose and energy but would not keep him hungry for a long amount of time. He heard steps and looked up. Moriarty was there with a plate of what looked like ham. Sherlock got onto his knees and got up.

"Hullo, Sherly! I do hope you had as much fun as I did." Sherlock said nothing. "You can talk, you know. I have some food for you." He passed it forward and Sherlock was about to get it through the bars when Moriarty pulled it back.

"Uh uh uh, not quite yet, Shirly."

"Stop calling me that. What more do you want from me?" snapped Sherlock.

"Ooooh, testy are we? Just say this." He put his ear right next to Sherlock's face by the bars and whispered: "I'm yours forever."

Sherlock lowered his head and replied, like an apologising child. Moriarty seemed pleased and passed him the ham. Sherlock began eating hungrily. Moriarty put his hand through the bars and patted Sherlock's curls.

"Good boy, Sherly." He said sweetly. Sherlock resisted the urge to bite him.

John was facing the one and only Irene Adler. She was dressed in a black robe, with a black hairpiece. She still had her make-up and was still ravishingly beautiful. She smiled.

"That isn't my name out here." She replied and stuck out her hand. "Iskra Angelova."

John took it. "John Watson." They shook.

Irene invited him in and stuck the kettle on.

"I hope you don't mind me intruding like this." Said John.

"Oh, no it's fine; I haven't had visitors in simply _ages._ You don't mind if I ask a few questions, do you?"

"Oh no, do go on."

"Well, first off, I'm supposed to be dead, how did you find me?"

"Mycroft."

"Ah. Yes, well that explains it. Well, next question. Where's Sherlock? Don't you two always go round together? John looked at his lap.

"Yes, w-well that's just the thing. It's rather a long story."

"I have time.

John explained everything, from the court case to the fall. Irene didn't interrupt. When he was done. Irene went up to look out the window. John could see there were tears in her eyes. She looked out the window for a while. Then her eyes darted, trying to figure something out. Then they widened.

"Sherlock's alive." She said simply. John almost choked on his tea.

"What? How in hells name did you figure that out?" He replied.

"I'm coming back to England, I'll explain on the way. Do you mind if I stay in Baker Street?"

"Uh….yeah. Yeah sure." Said John a bit taken back. "Look, Sherlock is still alive?"

"Get a cab, I'll explain on the way.

Moriarty and Moran finished the lovemaking after about two hours and looked lovingly into each other's eyes for a few seconds before ending with a snog.

"That was amazing" said Moran, breathlessly.

"It was, wasn't it? Much better than with Sherlock, he's such an amateur."

"Still, he'll learn. One day he may be as good as me." Moriarty but Moran's chin and shook his head.

"Never as good as you, honey." Moran smiled and got out of the bed.

"Where are you off to?" asked Moriarty.

"Haven't checked on John in a while, you never know. Might be amusing." Moriarty smiled and joined him. Together they walked in their robes, hands held to the computer. Mycroft wasn't the only one with eyes and ears everywhere, Moriarty had them everywhere.

"Anything?" asked Moriarty. Sebastian's eyes widened.

"In Bolivia, he found the woman. They're going back to London. Are they an item now?"

"No, don't be stupid. They know, they must know."

"Well, what do we do?" Moriarty smiled.

"We let them have their fun, leave it a bit. When the time is right we can start veering them in the right direction."

_Jesus, its only chapter four! I must learn to pan these things out. Well, for my first Fanfic its going well __ keep posting your reviews, none go unread, and I will take any suggestions, but I have plans :-D_


	5. Chapter 5

_My writer friend luckily corrected me; Mycroft is actually 7 years older than Sherlock. SORRY!_

John and Irene were on the last flight back to London; Irene staring out of the window, John praying that the plane wouldn't crash. He had had a bad experience back in the army.

"Ok, now will you tell me how Sherlock is alive?" asked John.

"Oh, yes of course. Honey, I knew Moriarty personally for _many _years, so first of all I know it's not true that dear Sherlock made him up. And up on that rooftop, you said he said he was a fake? Bit far fetched, isn't it? We already know Sherlock didn't make Jim up, so he was referring to the body that you found on the ground. It wasn't Sherlock's."

John was quite taken aback.

"Well if it wasn't Sherlock's, whose was it?" He asked. Irene thought for a moment.

"Don't you have a friend in the morgue?"

Molly Hooper was examining a cadaver in the morgue, biting her lip as she studied it. It had been two days since they had faked Sherlock's death, and there was no sign of him. Molly had waited at the airport where she had arranged a fake passport and identity to get him out of England, but he had never showed up. She was worried, worried about him.

"Molly, could we have a word?" Said a voice by the door. She turned away from the body to see John Watson. He was standing with his arms folded over his crème jumper.

"Oh, John, hi!" she said in her usual cheery voice. John gave a small smile.

"Molly, it's about, you know, when Sherlock….on the roof…." He managed to get out. Molly looked down.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Molly, you can tell me the truth. I know you helped him to fake his death." Her eyes widened.

"How did you find out?"

"A little help from an old friend." He said giving a small whistle. Irene walked in looking pissed off.

"Im not a bloody dog, you know. You can just call me by my name." She snapped. Molly was shocked.

"You're alive!" She whispered.

"How very observant you are, dear. Do you know why Sherlock faked his death?" Molly looked down.

"W-well, Moriarty threatened him. Told him if he didn't jump he would kill you, John. And Mrs Hudson and Greg. He didn't threaten my life so Sherlock confined in me. I helped arrange a shocked crowd, a body with prosthetics to look like him and the bicycle to knock you over." She smiled a bit. "Sorry about that, but if you saw the switch you would have been killed."

"That explains, but where is Sherlock now?" asked John. Molly looked saddened.

"That's just the thing. I waited for him at the airport, we were arranging a passage out of England, but he never showed up." Her voice faltered. "I'm so worried that he's in trouble. W-what if he's dead?" She began to cry softly and John ran over to comfort her. Irene was again deep in thought.

"What is it, Irene?" asked John. Irene faced him.

"We know Sherlock faked his death, is there a chance Moriarty did too?"

Sherlock slowly stretched his legs, wincing from the pain in his knees. Sebastian had given him back his trousers, so he ripped off the bottoms and used them to bandage his smashed knees. He couldn't do anything about his ribs but let them heal

The fire still flickered in the fireplace, but Sherlock had sussed by now that it artificial. The smoke would give Moriarty away, and plus it wasn't giving off any heat. He shivered and picked up the blanket from the floor and wrapped himself in it. It was dark and Sherlock didn't mind admitting he was a bit scared. It was dark, cold, and he didn't know how long he had been I the clutches of Moriarty. Probably just a couple of days.

Sherlock heard steps and flinched. Sebastian came through the door. Sherlock gave him a look of spite, but he didn't seem interested in Sherlock. He was dragging a person, a _child, _through to the cell and threw her in with him. She was about twelve, her eyes wide with fear. Her hair was chin length and ginger, very messy. Her eyes were deep blue. She was very messy, and displayed some dark bruises on her body and through the rips in her shirt and jeans. Her cheeks were sunken and she looked like she hadn't eaten in days. She stared at Sebastian until he left. When he did, she curled up into a small huddle, shivering.

Sherlock struggled up and crawled over to her. She didn't move.

"Are you alright?" He asked. She looked up, worried. "It's ok, I won't hurt you. Did Moriarty do this to you?" She nodded. "What's your name?" She smiled a bit.

"Mackenzie. Mackenzie Jones." She said in a harsh voice. "What's yours?"

"I'll tell you, let me get you some water first." He replied, taking his blanket off and wrapping her up in it. He realised for the first time that it was orange. He smiled, it matched her hair.

On the basin was a small plastic cup so that Sherlock could have water anytime he wanted. He filled it and handed it to Mackenzie, who drank greedily.

"Anyway, my name is Sherlock Holmes." He said once she had swallowed the last of it. She chocked a bit.

"Sherlock Holmes, The consulting detective! I might as well tell you how I got here."

"Orphan, ran away from the Home, probably because you got bored, more likely because of the abusive matron, hence the faded scar on your cheek." Mackenzie lifted a hand to feel her cheek. Sherlock continued: "On the streets, you became wiser, more streetwise. Soon you got into trouble with the police, but escaped. Moriarty found you and offered you sanctuary. Little did you know who he was, am I right?" Mackenzie nodded, smiling. "He took me into captivity the day the newspapers were raving about the 'fake genius' Sherlock Holmes. He talked often about you so I knew that the stories weren't true. There was him and another girl with red hair called Kitty, a journalist. I don't like her."

"Hmmmm, yes funny that, neither do I." He mumbled back

_I felt like it needed a knew character, and Mackenzie Jones is basically my alter-ego __ sorry that this one is short. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry it's been a couple of days! The show that we have been rehearsing our arses off for is in a couple of weeks so we are working overtime! Anyway, onwards!_

That night, Sherlock and Mackenzie slept to the sound of dripping sewage water and the squeaking of many rats. Sherlock had warned Mackenzie about them but she said she didn't mind rats, and that where she had been before Moriarty had moved her to here was _much _worse. Sherlock hadn't dared ask her about it, not wanting to upset her.

Sherlock had let Mackenzie have the blanket, knowing she needed it more. It wasn't long into the night before she started thrashing about in her sleep, calling out and sobbing. Sherlock was right by her side, cradling her and comforting her.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you." She said when she had calmed down. Sherlock held her. "Don't be stupid, you didn't wake me. Its ok, I'm here, I'm not gonna let them do anything too you." Mackenzie nuzzled her head into Sherlock's chest and was asleep in seconds. Sherlock stayed by her side. He couldn't help but smile. He had never felt such a strong urge to look after someone, apart from maybe John. She was so helpless; he wanted to watch out for her. He fell asleep next to her, his arm still holding her, wondering what an earth they had done to her.

John was sitting in his armchair in Baker Street, in deep thought; Irene was in the kitchen making coffee. After a while he groaned in frustration.

"We may have to swap jobs, you're better at this than me." He said. Irene laughed, and poured. "Well, if we want dear Sherlock in one piece, we have to think fast, but as far as we're concerned, there are no possible leads. We might be at this for weeks, _months."_ Replied Irene. John sighed. "Well, I'm willing to think as long as possible. If you're right, we can't just leave him!" He said, throwing his arms up in frustration. He sat down and put his head in his hands. Irene sat on the armrest and touched his arm so he looked at her.

"So am I. I can't let you do this alone John, ok? I know Moriarty, and he isn't just sex, drugs and pure insanity. He's dangerous, as he has proved. And I'm willing to help you every step of the way." John looked up into her eyes. She really meant it. He put his hand to her face and they slowly leant in and kissed. John was shy at first, but Irene put a stop to that and renched his tongue open with her teeth and both tongues softly caressed. They got up, still embracing each other and made their way up the stairs into Johns room.

A fortnight passed, and Sherlock was taken every day to room thirteen and had the displeasure of experiencing the effect of every instrument on that dreadful rack, used in the most Adleresque torture methods he could imagine. Moriarty couldn't believe his luck; Sherlock couldn't resist, fight or escape, for fear of an unfortunate "accident" to occur in 221B Baker Street. They had the decency to return what little clothes he had to him before dragging him back to the cell. Mackenzie would wait in the shadows, and when Sebastian had left, set to work to repair him as best as she could. Sherlock didn't know what he would do without Mackenzie for company, support. She was incredible. He asked how where she had learnt her nursing skills from, after a particularly brutal session with Moriarty and a knife.

"My mum was a doctor, and a good one too. 'Taught me everything she knows. My dad was a computer hacker for the service." She giggled. "He taught me a fair deal as well."

"It really is depressing to know that talent like yours was being wasted in the streets." He said in reply.

John and Irene would work day and night, looking everywhere in London. They were certain that they both were alive now. The body had disappeared from the top of the hospital. John didn't want to go up there at first, it was too painful, but he was glad he had. They looked all over London by day, and expressed their love by night. That night, John lay awake after their session was over. Irene was asleep. John really liked her, but Irene wasn't the type of woman to get tied down with someone. He knew that when, if, they found Sherlock, Irene would be back in Bolivia like that. He sighed and went to sleep, thinking of where Sherlock was now.

In the morning, Sherlock woke his eyes bleary from a long night of pain. Mackenzie was next to him, still sound asleep. He managed to get up without waking her. It was impossible to tell what time it was, but his body clock told him it was about 6:30. His stomach grumbled. He held it tight. Oh stop complaining, he thought. They hadn't been given anything extra since Mackenzie had arrived, but they never abused her in any way, that was the important thing. They always split the food in half, but Mackenzie always insisted on letting him have most, as most of his energy was wasted in these daily torments, but Sherlock made her have her half, knowing she was just as hungry, if not more, than he was.

To answer his question, the lights came on and he saw Moriarty by the far wall.

"Good morning, Sherlock! I thought I might stop by, see how you're dong." The familiarity of the voice woke Mackenzie and her eyes widened. Sherlock went over to her and stayed close by.

"What do you want?" asked Sherlock, his tone sour.

"Well, it's not like you're not much fun, dear god no. I just thought," He came up close to the bars and looked into Mackenzie's eyes, "I might take the girl for a spin, and give you a day off."

Sherlock stood in front of her defensively.

"You're not to touch her, you understand? Take me, but leave her alone!"

"Oooooh, touchy are we? But I guess we do get defensive over our pets." He looked again at Mackenzie, who was dripping with sweat and clearly terrified. She had been fun the last time, but she was a beginner then, new to it all.

"Ok Sherlock, I'll leave her." He clicked his fingers, and Sebastian came in. "Sebby, dear, go fetch Dr Watson. I'll have my fun with him; he should be at home at this time."

"No! You said you would leave him alone, you promised!" Yelled Sherlock, almost hysterically.

"Well, make up your mind. I'm getting sick of you; it's been sixteen days you know." Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily. Sixteen days, Jesus. He lowered his head, wondering what to do.

"Take me."

Mackenzie was standing weakly, her eyes determined and brave.

"You want me, come and get me. I've been rotting in this dump for sixteen days, apparently." She said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. Sherlock looked at her, his eyes begging her not to. Moriarty smiled and clapped sarcastically.

"See, Shirly? Mac here knows how to follow instructions." Said Moriarty, like a teacher comparing students. He gestured his head towards the cell and Sebastian went in and roughly grabbed Mackenzie and dragged her out.

Sherlock looked at Moriarty with spite, tears forming in his eyes.

"You bastard. How can you live like this?" he yelled.

"Oh, quite easily. But of course you know that. You probably don't remember too well. You were quite young." Sherlock was confused. Moriarty leant in close.

"Morocco, 1987." He whispered. Sherlock's eyes widened. Moriarty smiled, satisfied with Sherlock's new panicked state.

"I'd love to stay, but I have a new play toy. Don't worry Shirly, I haven't forgotten about you though." He left, turning off the lights. Sherlock went back against the wall, silently sobbing to himself.

_Awwww poor Shirly. We do enjoy torturing our hero, don't we? Again, sorry this took so long! Probs no post on Sunday,(NO POST ON SUNDAYS!)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hi! Nothing really to report, but I felt the need to put a message in Italics. OH YEAH, because I got the age difference wrong, Mycroft is seventeen in the plotline ahead. Not that it makes a lot of difference. AND BE WARNED: SORT-OF CHILD ABUSE AHEAD!_

The sun was shining brightly, too brightly. Sherlock squinted his eyes. He sighed, Morocco was boring. He looked to see Mummy fussing over Mycroft (surprise surprise) and Father was looking at the tourist map. _Oh no, I know what's happening next. No, please. _There were people everywhere, selling handmade goods, looking at some ruins or something. Dull. Then out of nowhere, there was a small boy, about Sherlock's age, running through the crowd, and with a quick hand movement, took mummy's handbag. She shrieked, and Sherlock was immediately after him. _Oh god, please don't show me anymore._ They didn't run for too long. Sherlock wasn't out a lot and his cardio vascular endurance wasn't at his highest, but he didn't care. He soon rounded a corner, but had lost sight of him, until he felt something sharp at the back of his neck.

"Don't move. Make a sound and I will kill you, do you understand?" Sherlock nodded his head slowly. He managed to just crane his neck round and saw the boy. He was a bit shorter than Sherlock, but then Sherlock had always been staggeringly tall for his age. He was well built, but what surprised him most was the fact that he wasn't African; he was British, Irish even.

Sherlock went the way this boy pointed. There were no more people about, even though it was still midday, and he was pushed into a dark cellar underneath what looked like a vacant house. The boy roughly sat him in the chair. _Dear god, please, no. _

"Ok, Sherlock. Did you want this?" Sherlock's eyes widened at his name, and he saw he was still holding Mummy's purse.

"Give it ba-." He began, and was stopped when he was slapped in the face, hard.

"DON'T TALK! DON'T RUIN IT AND TALK!" he calmed down almost instantly after Sherlock nodded.

"I'm afraid I need it, dear Shirly. You see, unlike YOU we don't all live the fancy lifestyle, you good-for-nothing piece of shit. Some of us have to do things the hard way." He emptied the contents of the bag onto the floor. Mummy's purse with her travel money, her camera and some sun cream rolled out. The boy looked with spite at Sherlock.

"Your Mummy's precious bag could feed me for weeks." Then he softened slightly. Sherlock decided to ask some questions.

"Look, what's your na-." again he was slapped hard.

"STOP TALKING! Anyway, if you must know, my name is Jim. And it seems as if I can't really get a way for you to shut up." Said Jim he went to a cupboard by the wall and pulled out some duct-tape. With this he used to tape his mouth shut, and his wrists together.

"Now what am I going to do with you? I can't set you free, you know where I am. So," He came up to Sherlock's defenceless body in the chair and straddled him. _PLEASE STOP THIS! _

"I can make the most of you." He saw Sherlock's worry in his eyes and laughed.

"Don't worry, I'm practically a professional. Daddy was the best you see. Daddy would have girls and boys from far and wide, you see, and he would make them happy. Some of them didn't want to be made happy, but Daddy said that they would have to learn to enjoy it. He taught me how to make them happy, but he got ever so angry when I did something wrong." He took off his shirt. His chest displayed multiple scars.

"But soon I got better. Daddy was very pleased with me, but the big bad policemen found Daddy and locked him away. I ran though, and escaped. And now, Sherlock." He said, taking off his jeans and underwear. "I'm going to make Daddy proud."

Within an instant, Jim produced the knife he had used to lure Sherlock in, and cut away his clothes. Sherlock protested, muffled by the tape that still forbade him to speak, but Jim kicked him hard. "UGH! DON'T YOU EVER SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING BASTARD?" he yelled and kicked him again, hard. Then he turned Sherlock over onto his stomach, and before he began he whispered into Sherlock's ear menacingly: "Brace yourself, honey." _NO!_

Sherlock woke in a panic. He was sweating and trembling and he found that he had been crying in his sleep. He wrapped the blanket tighter around him and lowered his head. He didn't need to continue the dream to know what happened next. Jim had raped him, and Sherlock hadn't been able to do anything about it. When he had finished, he had dressed and, after hiding Sherlock's filthy, bound and gagged body under some sheets, went to go sell the contents of the bag. Sherlock had no choice but to stay there. About 28 hours later, Policemen came and found his soiled, exhausted body and took him back to the station. Jim had been found and the bag returned, but for ages, Sherlock had been too scared to talk to anyone.

Sherlock got to his feet and pulled on his curls irritably. What was he doing, feeling sorry for himself? He had let a small child that he had promised to protect from that bastard into his rape dungeon and he was sitting, crying over something that had happened 26 years ago. He washed his face and shaved, and waited, staring at the door for their arrival.

It wasn't long afterwards before a disappointed Moriarty and an almost dead inside Mackenzie came back in. He threw Mackenzie in, where she quickly ran to Sherlock's open arms. He hugged her tight.

"Don't do that again." He whispered.

"Don't worry." She replied. Moriarty gave a look of mock sadness.

"Aw, how cute. The shrimp's only friend allows her to go with the big bad Moriarty, and she forgives him. Anyway, I wouldn't worry, Sherlock, she's no fun. I much prefer you. If you wouldn't mind if I come back in a couple of hours, I might be….peckish then." He said, and he left, turning out the light.

Sherlock pulled her closer.

"Are you ok?" He asked. Stupid question. She gave her usual grin, but with less enthusiasm.

"I'm fine, but I won't be volunteering anytime soon. That was painful."

"Don't worry, he won't ask again. He just wanted to scare me, scare _us_." Mackenzie nodded. Sherlock talked often about John. She knew that they were close and asked that if one day, if they ever got out of this dreadful mess, she could visit Baker Street, chat with john and try some of Mrs Hudson's baking. Sherlock had nodded, but deep down both of them knew there was no way out.

Moriarty and Moran were hugging in bed, tenderly. Moran kissed Moriarty's chest, lustfully.

"How was the Shrimp?" asked Moran. Moriarty sighed.

"Dull. She was such a whiner, too."

"Oh well. You get Sherlock back in a couple of hours."

"Yeah. You know, I think it's time we started to lead dear Johnsy and Irene in the right direction." Moran sighed.

"So soon?"

"Yeah come on, it could be fun. We might get the pleasure of killing the poor things in front of Shirly."

"But you promised him that-."

"That if I killed John, he would be free. But I don't see me doing that anytime soon." Moran smiled, rubbing his nose against Jims.

"You are so bad."

"Aren't I?"

Jim took his phone out and selected the contact "Johnny Boy."

**You catch on fast, don't you! Well, I figured the two of you might want some help. **

**Clue: Vermin.**

**-JM**

_Sherlock's Childhood problems, not as horrible as I had planned, but I already said two days so, yeah. Still, I went all out on Moriarty's. Till next time!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello! I've been Ill recently, and with rehearsals doing Fanfic is getting harder. But I still try!_

Sherlock carefully inspected Mackenzie, but she had few wounds. He supposed Jim had gone easy on her. No, what was he thinking? The damage would be on the inside. Cruel sadistic bastard. That was going on his 'Reasons why Moriarty should die' list. Him and that lapdog of his. Mackenzie sighed and grabbed his hands.

"For the last time, Sherlock, I'm ok."

"Did he use protection?"

"Well, yeah. Said he didn't want any risks."

"Risks leading to pregnancy?"

"Not the way he was doing it."

Sherlock sighed. There was a possibility of disease, but there was nothing they could do about that possibility.

Mackenzie watched as he paced round the cell, his hand pressed together at his face. Mackenzie had identified this by now as his 'thinking face.' He wondered what he was thinking about. It must be hard for him, having his 'home' just at arms-length and knowing it was fake. She had seen the pictures of john or 'robin' in the newspapers blowing down London, and she imagined Mrs Hudson from Sherlock's description. She looked across the bars and imagined them there, with her in Baker Street. Mrs Hudson was baking something for them _mmm meat pie, I can almost smell it,_ John and Her were playing cluedo _why isn't Sherlock playing with us, I wonder? _Sherlock was by the window, playing 'Do you hear the people sing' on a violin, beautifully none the less. _Wow, I__ never really thought of Sherlock as one for musical theatre_. She sighed. She hadn't seen Sherlock truly happy down in the sewers, and who could blame him? It was positively rank.

John came back from the hospital at about four o'clock. It had been full from the survivors of a car crash. He sighed and sat down. His phone was charging by the fireplace, so he went to pick it up. He opened it, looked at the screens. For a few moments he was stunned, and then he caved at the knees, still holding the phone.

**You catch on fast, don't you! Well, I figured the two of you might want some help. **

**Clue: Vermin.**

**-JM**

His senses soon returned to him and he called for Irene. She came in.

"I know, I read it." He turned to her, surprised.

"You read my text?"

"You forget who you talk to, love."

"Right. W-well we'll talk about that later. Any ideas so far?" She sat down.

"It won't be linked to Moriarty himself, it might be his opinion on things, or it could be indicating where he is. What first springs to mind when I say 'Vermin'?"

"Criminals, Disease, what does it all mean though?"

"What would come to Sherlock's mind when you say 'Vermin'?"

"Easy, rats. He can't stand them."

"And where do you find rats?"

"The sewers! Are you saying he has literally been right beneath our feet the whole time?"

The phone buzzed again:

**My my, you are clever! But that's all the help I can give you I'm afraid. Now I must go, I have matters to attend to-JM**

Irene sighed.

"We were right. But that's all the clues he's going to give us. What now, the London sewage system is HUGE! It could take us ages."

"Well, we agreed we would work on this as long as we could." He took her hand. "Together?" She smiled.

"Together."

Sebastian came for Sherlock about half an hour later. He went without resisting. When they got there, he didn't resist as Sebastian stripped him, nor when he was chained face down on the table. He didn't care what they did to him anymore.

Moriarty soon walked in.

"Ah, dear Sherlock! So happy to have you back. Wasn't really the same without you."

"You monster."

"Now now, no need for that. You didn't exactly put up much of a fight, what kind of protector does that make you?"

"You would have raped and killed John."

"Oh, yeah, fair point. But that's worth having a child raped, just so dear Johnny could be safe?"

"Shut up!"

"Gladly, now we can get to work."

He got something from the rack, and fiercely separated Sherlock's buttocks and shoved a vibrating dildo into his anus. Sherlock grunted. It hurt like hell, but he was getting used to it, _how could anyone__ ever get used to this treatment. _Jim smiled at Sherlock's discomfort. He assumed his position, straddled cross Sherlock's weight. Sherlock decided to play along, he needed questions answered. He let out a gasp of ecstasy, which highly pleased Moriarty. Perfect.

"Jim?"

"Yes, Shirly?"

"Why I Mac down there, anyway?" said Sherlock, using that awful pet name. Jim grabbed his curls, pulling his head up so that he was looking into his eyes.

"That, dear Sherlock is none of your business."

"I would be willing to pay _very _dearly." He said, his voice going husky.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Jim got up. Perfect, thought Sherlock. Whatever price he had to pay, whatever excruciating torture he had devised would be worth it. He needed to know. Jim instead picked up a whip and whipped it violently across Sherlock's back. Sherlock grunted.

"Don't you get it?! You belong to me now. You don't get 'favours', ok? Why I brought Mackenzie here is none of your business!' He again whipped Sherlock's back.

"I clearly see that girl is going to create problems. You have twenty four hours, then ill have to relocate her again. Really, she is such a little troublemaker. Not to worry, I've spotted a nice little place in Korea. They know how to take care of their guests."

"….So what do you propose we do?"

Lestrade put his hands to his temples, thinking. John had told the story, and had left it in the hands of the yardies. He was a doctor, not a detective. Lestrade had interrupted his recount only once, when John had reviled Irene was still alive. Lestrade closed his eyes, deep in thought for some moments. Then he stood up.

"I'm sorry, John, for doubting Sherlock." His head was hung low and he did look truly sorry. John clapped him on the back.

"S'alright, mate. You had every reason to believe the press. But what's important is that we help him. It's been seventeen days; god knows what's been done to him."

"How many people know?"

"You, me, Molly, Irene, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft."

"Great, that's all who's gonna know. Ill arrange a rescue team once we have found the location. We start tomorrow."

_Sorry this took so long! I actually had NO spare time! Still, it's done. I hope to post soon!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey, sorry for graphic content in the last chapter, I'm back to T now._

After about an hour of Moriarty's punishment, Sherlock was sent to the cell, his back a slab of raw meat. Mackenzie rushed to his weakened body. When Sebastian was out of the door, he looked into the girls eyes. She was busying herself, cleaning Sherlock's wounds.

"Mackenzie?" He asked. She looked at him. "What did Moriarty do to you? Before you were brought here?" She looked pained, but she realised he had to know.

"Well, you were right. I was in trouble with the police. I had a friend on the streets, his name was Jack Beaker. He was a very good friend and travelled with me around London. One day we couldn't find any food, so we stole from a local baker. Unfortunately we were caught in the act, and we ran. We bumped into a man in the alleys, who said he would help us escape. Jack wasn't sure, but we had no choice. He took us down into the sewers and locked the door to some sort of room, saying we would be 'useful' in a little game he was playing. Jack attacked him, telling me to run." Her voice faltered. Sherlock held her close, ignoring the pain in his back. She wanted to cry but held back the tears and continued.

"The other man, Sebastian, he shot Jack. Before I could run, they injected me with something and I passed out. When I woke up I was covered in explosives. He told me to talk into a phone."

"Of course, the little girl on the phone. I had to solve a puzzle, or you would be shot."

"That was you?"

"Yes, me, John and D.I Lestrade."

"Oh, well thank you. The police did come, by the way, but I was already gone. He took me and substituted me with some other homeless girl who wanted a free lunch. He said that I would talk and wasn't allowed to go. I tried to escape, but I was taken to this horrible place, with a man and a woman who I guess had been through the same treatment. I didn't really like them much. They didn't really care much about me. I was just using up the food allowance. A month or two later Moriarty got bored took me out, asked about me. I had no choice, and told him my name. He typed it into a computer, along with my DNA sample. I don't know what came up, but he got really angry. He let Sebastian take his anger out on me, and then sent me here, with you."

Sherlock took some time to take in this information. His brain had gotten slower due to lack of food. He hated it. Whatever had come up on that computer screen, whatever her family had done, she would pay for it. She couldn't be kept here, Sherlock was getting curious. He looked at her.

"You need to escape. And fast."

John, Irene, Greg, Molly, and some of the other Yardies, including Sgt Donavon were round the table in Scotland Yard headquarters. Irene hadn't wanted to go, she would have preferred to stay invisible, but John insisted.

"Ok, as you are all aware, Mr Holmes has been missing for a sum of seventeen days. As proved by my college Molly Hopper," She nodded. "Sherlock survived the fall, and never faked the identity of Moriarty. We are to start a search for him, as it is already known he is being held captive in the sewers. And, might I stress this now, the press is to be kept out of this under any circumstances, this is a private operation, understood?" the participants of the table nodded. "Alright, any questions?"

Molly raised her hand.

"When will the search commence?"

"Whence we have permission from the PM, so around about tomorrow. Is that all?" Irene raised her hand. John was stunned, as she hadn't wanted to include herself at all.

"And, if you don't mind me asking, what becomes of Moriarty?"

"Ironically enough, Pentonville prison. We have been also told he has an accomplice, former Colonel Sebastian Moran. We'll see he gets a few years."

As he got up and declared the meeting over, a woman who John recognised as Greg's secretary ran in looking scared.

"Sir! It's the phone for you. Please come quick." She said, panicked. Greg, John, Irene, and Molly ran to his office. They already knew who it was.

"Put on loudspeaker." He said as he walked in. she did and they all held their breaths and sure enough, it came.

"H-hello Greg."

Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock!" Yelled John.

"No, I'm afraid. He's only my puppet for today." John remembered being used in the same way, so long ago. Sherlock's voice didn't sound right. It was croaky and hollow, he didn't like it.

"He'll be alright, Johnny boy, don't you worry. If y-you do as I ask."

"You can use your own voice, you know. We are all familiar with it." Asked Greg, rough and brutal.

"I would. But this is so much more fun. You should see him now, squirming around. It really is quite a sight."

"If you dare kill him, I swear-." began John.

"Oh no, you misunderstand. I'm not threatening _his _life. Now, d-down to business. You see, I'm a bit low on cash. And what with some interesting little projects I have planned, it's not really the best time. So I was thinking about maybe, I don't know, ten million? Underneath Westminster Bridge? That should do the trick. Or I shall have to." He paused for a moment. "I shall have to dispose of my plaything. I-it's a shame, he really is quite fun. Y-you have three days."

"Listen Sherlock, we're going to find you, hang in there." Said John, but the phone had hung up. Molly burst into tears, and Greg went to go comfort her. John just stared at the receiver. Irene put her hand on his shoulder.

"We're going to find him, John, we will."

Sherlock stared at the phone in his hands. Moran still had the gun to Mackenzie's head. Moriarty nodded at him, and he threw Mackenzie back into the cell.

"Thank you Sherlock. I do hope they deliver the money, for your sake. Tick tock Shirly." He and Moran left.

Sherlock looked at Mackenzie who seemed unharmed.

"Did you get it?" She smiled and pulled a skeleton key from her pocket, which she had swiped from Moran's.

"Im not the best damn pickpocket on the street for nothing."

"Great, we can escape." They looked at each other for a few seconds and pulled into a hug. They were going home.

They waited minutes, until they were sure that they had gone, and unlocked the door, and within minutes, were out of the fake 221B. They looked at the empty sewer. It still stunk, but they had gotten used to it by now. They walked down, neither of them sure where they were going. Then, they saw a light. Distant, but there and leading upwards.

"Well, really Sherlock! You think you would be able to trust a man after this long."

"No. Oh god no." Sherlock said without realising it. He turned and sure enough, he was standing there.

Before anything could be done, he turned and punched him in the face. Jim stumbled and Sherlock turned.

"Mackenzie, you have to run, ok? Run as fast as you can, go to Baker Street. RUN!" Mackenzie realised she was crying. She wiped the tears, nodded and ran. Sherlock stomped on Moriarty's shoulder and he heard something crack. Jim yelled and tried to claw at his face, but he grabbed his wrists. But he was then hauled backwards, by Moran and he held him under his armpits. Moriarty got up furious, and with his good arm, punched Sherlock viciously in the stomach so that he doubled over and looked at Moran.

"Take him to thirteen, teach him a lesson. I'll talk to him later."

_The show ends on Thursday, so then I have no excuses! I am so tired, you wouldn't believe it :P_


	10. Chapter 10

_Performing tomorrow, wish me luck!_

Mackenzie ran through the streets of London. She had never been the fittest child, and was already running out of breath, but she didn't care. She didn't care that she was getting fatigued, she didn't care about the tons of people staring at her, she didn't even care that she was still crying. She had to run.

She didn't check behind her to see if Moriarty was there, worried that he was. Soon she turned into an alleyway and stopped to get her breath back. She saw she wasn't being followed and took this time to see where she was. She soon saw she was in Brixton. She thought for a moment. Baker Street was about twenty three miles away. She didn't have any money for a cab. She sighed and went back onto the street, hoping she didn't look too disgusting. She had a lot of walking to do.

Jim came out of his room, after seeing a reliable man who had once trained to be a doctor. His arm was in a cast, and would be for at least a week or two. He checked his Omega. It had been at least two hours. Sebby should have softened him up by now. He walked down the slime filled tunnels, disgusted. It was the only base of operations he had at his disposal, but it still stunk. When Sherlock had punched him and he had fallen, he had gone head first into that muck. It had even muffled whatever Sherlock had said to that little brat. All he had heard was 'run.'

He went into room thirteen, where Sebastian was obscuring his view of a bloody, broken and bruised Sherlock. Sebastian was still at him and Sherlock's grunting was uncaring. Moriarty clicked and Sebastian moved immediately to the side of the room. The entire floor was stained with blood; the whole room stunk of it. Sherlock was still lying in the middle of the room incapable of movement. His breathing was fast and deep, and a black eye was forming. Sherlock closed his eyes and mentally examined his wounds. Apart from multiple constitutions, cuts and blood loss, he found at least three of his ribs were broken and was making breathing painfully difficult.

Moriarty came over to him. Sherlock was lying on his back, looking up at him with almost closed eyes. He put his foot on his chest, without applying any pressure, but it was enough to cause Sherlock a lot of pain. He groaned softly.

"Now, Sherlock, I want to make this nice and easy for you. Sebby has done a great job with you and a lot more damage could have some unpleasant effects." He smiled at Sebastian and applied a tiny amount of force to Sherlock's ribs. He moaned, shutting his eyes tight.

"It doesn't have to be this way. Just tell me" He leaned in so his face was inches away from Sherlock's. His expression became venomous. "Where is Mackenzie Jones going?" Sherlock remained neutral. Jim applied a little more pressure and Sherlock's mouth went square as he groaned a little louder. It was so amazingly human, unlike anything Jim had ever heard from Sherlock. He wondered if he should lay off him, considering the state he was in, but immediately pushed all thoughts of sympathy away from him. He pushed harder until Sherlock's groan turned to a yell. Sebastian had as maddened grin stretched over his face. Moriarty then removed his foot and kicked him hard in the stomach.

"WHERE IS SHE? TELL ME HOLMES! Tell me or I may have to make life I bit more difficult for you!"

Sherlock struggled onto his hands and knees, ignoring the searing pain.

"Won't-get-anything….out-of-me. Won't-tell-you….anything." He croaked. Moriarty was fuming. He grabbed Sherlock's curls and hauled him up. He slammed him hard against the wall. Sherlock grunted. He held him there and hissed in his ear

"Do you remember your second day here Sherlock? Seems like years ago, doesn't it! Well, you said something to me that I will never forget. Remember what you said?" He said, calmly.

"I'm-yours…..forever." He replied, his voice shaking slightly.

"Exactly." Jim clicked his fingers and Sebastian produced a knife. He handed it to Moriarty who, after hovering it over Sherlock's shoulder blade, sliced three times. He was making some sort of shape, but Sherlock couldn't make it out. All he could make out was the sharp pain as the knife struck. He grunted, not having the effort to give a proper response or insult.

Moran hauled him up. Sherlock was too week to walk, so he practically _dragged_ him back to the fake 221B, and threw him in. Sherlock lay on his face, not wanting to move. His ribs were excruciatingly painful and his Shoulder was throbbing. After about ten minutes, he built the energy to get onto his knees. He stayed there for a while, getting his breath back He managed to crane his neck round, to see what his captor had carved.

J.M.

It took about an hour and a half, but Mackenzie soon found herself outside a sign indicating she was at Baker Street. She took this opportunity to get some breath back and to rest her bare, aching feet. It was about 9:00PM and she was freezing. But she had to keep going, she was so _close. _She asked around, wondering which way 221 was, but she was just a street urchin, nobody wanted to talk to her. She was close to tears. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Speedy's sandwich shop.

She ran to the door and franticly knocked. A man with greying hair and a crème jumper came to the door.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I-uh-my name is Mackenzie Jones. Are you Dr Watson?"

"Yes, that's me, what can I do for you?"

"I-its Sherlock." She said, and the tears she had been keeping back since her escape suddenly came out in a flood.

John let her in, concerned, and brought her to the living room. She gasped. Jim had gotten every detail exactly right. She looked to the right, where the cell would be, but instead there was kitchen, with a worried looking elderly woman, who she guessed was Mrs Hudson. John let her sit down and comforted her.

"It's ok, I can help you. Do you know where he is?"

"Y-yes. It's a long story I'm afraid."

"I have time."

He asked Mrs Hudson for tea, which she agreed to after gruffly replying she wasn't his housekeeper, but she also seemed concerned about the weeping little girl. She explained what had happened, from her capture to her escape. John was astonished; this girl had certainly been through the wars (_no pun intended.)_. He was also impressed with how Sherlock had treated her, wondering momentarily if they were talking about the same man.

"So he's in Brixton. Of course, that's where we solved our first case together." He put his arm around her. "I have some friends at Scotland Yard; we can get him out of there by tomorrow." She smiled and threw her arms around him. John hesitated, but returned the hug.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Suddenly, John's phone rang. The number was blocked. Her eyes widened.

"It's him." She whispered. John held up a calming hand and answered the phone, and sure enough, a rasping, week voice answered. He sounded worse than ever.

"Shirly has b-been a bad boy, l-letting my little rabbit e-escape." He croaked. Mackenzie was horrified.

"You promised you wouldn't harm him; you said we had three days." Replied John with anger.

"I p-promised I wouldn't kill him. I-I didn't say I wouldn't have my fun. U-unfortunately, Shirly's actions must h-have some sort of consequence. Y-you now have two hours." The phone went dead.

"Two hours. To get from Scotland Yard and then to Brixton will take about an hour and a half at least. And then finding our way through the sewers? What if we're too late?" Said John with dismay. Mackenzie put a hand to his shoulder.

"You won't be. You have me."

Sherlock sat with his head on his knees. After the phone call, Jim had placed a manual timer indicating what little time he had left. It was almost at the halfway point. He just sat and watched it. He was too weak to do much else. What was wrong with him? His whole life he had never been scared by the prospect of death, but it was so _close_. Too close.

He heard footsteps, and Jim walked in with a pork pie on a platter, one of Sherlock's personal favourites. He seemed to have calmed down.

"As it's your last day, I thought you deserved a treat." He said, passing the plate through the bars. Sherlock didn't resist, he was starving.

"Manners, Sherlock! Though I suppose you could do with fattening up, look at how thin you've gotten!"

Sherlock looked down at himself and saw that his stomach was almost concave. He hadn't really had the time to notice. He soon finished his pie with a satisfied sigh.

"You look like you enjoyed that! Want another?" Sherlock was confused.

"Why should you give me more food?"

"Because Sherlock, there's no use in wasting a good brain like yours by simply starving it." He came up to the bars. "Oh Sherlock, my dear, think of the things we could do, together! Our brilliant minds joined. We could have this country on its knees."

"What are you implying?"

"You could be free. You could be out of this place, Sherlock. You could join us, the outcasts. You could have it all."

"Never, will I ever join your little band of criminals. I'd rather die."

Moriarty's expression suddenly turned sour, and then to fury, and he kicked Sherlock through the bars of the cell, into his ribs, so he yelled and doubled over.

"FINE THEN! Die for your bloody city, see if I care." He went over to the timer and looked at the dial, now half way past, and pushed it forward. Sherlock now had half an hour. He turned to leave.

"Wait." Said Sherlock. Moriarty turned.

"What do you want now?"

"How did you know my name?"

"What?"

"Morocco, 1987, how did you know my name? You might as well answer; I have half an hour left. I think I deserve to know."

He smiled and walked up to the bars.

"As I said, Sherlock, Im a big fan. I always knew you."

"How?"

"Wow, you're slow these days! As you know well, your parents sent you to Avenue House School, a private school for 3-11 years, am I correct? Remember your form group? There was you, obviously, Ella, Stacy and Julie, always chatting! There was he arsenal fan club, Matt, Dennis and those other idiots, Some of those other girls, talking about make-up, that group of perverts who always talked about all the girls, but right at the back, There was one child who nobody liked. Maybe because his mother was a slut, because his father had fucked with half of their mothers. Do you know who that was Sherlock?

"One day, in form, Ella and her friends decided to play a game. They took people around daring them too do things. Matt had to kiss one of the make up girls, Hannah I believe she was called. I think those two are an item now! But they decided it would be funny to ask you to punch this boy. You refused, but they kept taunting you, calling you a girl. You had no friends to stick up for you did you. So what did you do?" Sherlock looked down. Jim grabbed him.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"I punched him."

"And what happened next?"

Sherlock murmured something.

"What?"

"We started a fight ok? And he, you, stabbed me."

"You deserved it."

"You're insane."

"Funny that's what the headmaster said. Daddy beat the shit out of me that day. And then Mummy. A bit too much, Mummy had to go to the hospital, she died there." He looked at Sherlock venomously.

"SHE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"You stabbed me! I nearly died!"

"But you didn't! You deserved to die!" He finished and threw him back before leaving.

Sherlock lay back. He had tried his hardest to forget that day. When Jim had stabbed him, he had only narrowly missed his heart. Stacy had called an ambulance whilst the other two sobbed how sorry they were. It was a near thing; he still had the scar on his chest as a horrid reminder. Sherlock had been allowed to stay, but nobody looked at him the same way again. He was only seven when it happened. Then of course, Jim's father and he had changed the family name, changed his appearance (he had had ginger hair and green eyes, his hair was now black and his eyes brown.) They had moved to Morocco, to start again, and Daddy had taught little Jimmy the ropes. And then three years later, who should turn up? The boy that supposedly ruined young Jim's life.

Sherlock curled up in the corner again, watching his time tick away and praying to god that some miracle could occur. It was his only hope.

_SORRY! It's been ages! I did the four nights which went very well and it was very fun (When is killing and torturing people on stage not fun?) I should be back to getting them daily, but here is a specially long chapter to say sorry J_


	11. Chapter 11

_Umm….hi…..WHAT COLOUR DOES A SMURF GO WHEN WE CHOKE IT?! Well, there's my message in italics, hope you enjoy the next chapter!_

"Ok, let me get this straight…."

They were in Greg's office. Irene had come back to 221B after going shopping, and after John explained the situation, they took a taxi to the yard. It had taken about half an hour, giving them another hour and a half to make their gallant rescue. The adults were at the desk, talking seriously, and Mackenzie sat in silence sipping her water.

"You trusted the word of a girl from the streets, because she mentioned Sherlock?"

"She's telling the truth! How come we got a call from him, saying he had let his 'rabbit' loose?" Said John

"Look, we just can't be sure she's the right one."

"Please, Mr Lestrade!" Cried Mackenzie. John and Irene were surprised. "Please, we don't have long, you have to trust me!"

"Ok, look, alright, we'll have a look. It's about twenty minutes, giving us forty minutes to look."

"Ok, let's get moving. As Mackenzie said, we don't have long, and god knows what's going on down there." Said Irene.

"All right, I'll get some security; we can be there with time to spare."

Sherlock was pacing his cell. They didn't know about the time that Moriarty had taken, would they be too late? No, he mustn't think about that. If he died, John would live and that was the important thing. He wondered momentarily how Moriarty planned for him to die. Whatever it was would be slow, painful, and cruel. He looked at the timer. It had been fifteen minutes since he had changed the time, giving him fifteen more.

John sat in the cab, begging for time to go faster. It was about five minutes away, but he was still nervous. What kind of a state would his dear friend be in? His voice had been full of pain, clearly taking effort to speak. He would need medical attention. He got a text on his phone, and he picked it up, not wanting to see. To his surprise, it was Mycroft.

**Sending in some colleges to help. Moriarty is a dangerous man, Watson. Be careful.**

**MH**

John texted back a thank you, and sat back a little less worried. They needed all the help they could get. They soon arrived in Brixton, and they went to the nearest manhole. He noticed she was a bit worried at the prospect of going back down. He put a hand on her shoulder and she nodded as if to say _I'll be alright, don't worry. _

Sherlock was pacing when he was interrupted by the sound of a bell. He looked at the timer. His time was up. Almost immediately, Sebastian came in, followed by a smug Jim Moriarty.

"Well Sherlock, the final dance. Though I must say, this has been satisfyingly fan. I shall miss it. Wont you?" Said Jim. Sherlock growled.

"Time to say goodbye." He finished. Sebastian chained up Sherlock just by the fake fireplace with his hands above his head, and then came out of the room and returned with two gasoline tanks. They were going to burn him alive.

They started to pour the contents all over the fake 221B, and some of the remains on Sherlock face, which got in his eyes and stung horribly. He looked up at Jim, his eyes pleading, praying that somewhere in this man there was any sympathy at all. He wished he wouldn't raise his hopes so.

"Goodbye, Mr Holmes." He said. He pulled out a couple of cigarettes, and handed one of then to Sebastian. He lit them, and as they left, threw the still burning match into the room. Flames soon engulfed the room. Sherlock curled up as best he could, not letting the flames near him. It was hard, with his arms of no use to him. He was sweating, and his breathing was fast, He was panicking. Dear god, please help me, he thought.

Mackenzie was running now. She knew where she was now there was not time to lose. John was still getting used to the stench, but was keeping close behind, along with the men Mycroft had sent and D.I. Lestrade. Then she stopped. She smelt smoke, in the sewer?!

"There's a fire. Sherlock !" She shrieked. John, Greg and the men ran ahead, they knew where they could find their way now. They saw the red blaze ahead. Lestrade turned to the leader of the squad of SAS agents.

"Get a fire brigade, quickly. And an ambulance, we may need one."

Sherlock watched the flames leap and soar. He couldn't keep them away forever, they were getting closer and closer, and the flames soon snagged his leg. He screamed as it burned his flesh. John, who was not far away now, heard these screams of pain and fear.

"Sherlock!" He cried and ran. There was a door, made of titanium metal that led to where the source of heat was, and where the distressed cries could be heard.

"Get the men to get the door down!" He said. Greg nodded and looked at the men, nodding to the door. They went up to it and, in very precise unison, rammed at the door with their shoulders. It took a few goes but they were in. Smoke billowed out of the entrance as the door fell with a clatter to the ground.

John looked in and saw a horrifying sight, 221B Baker Street, up in flames. He looked round and saw a cell where the kitchen should be, Stained with blood and stinking of human discomfort. And there in the corner, chained up, a screaming, burning, starving, beaten Sherlock Holmes. He went limp for a moment, before shaking it off.

"Sh-Sherlock!" He managed. Sherlock looked in the direction of the voice. Tears of shock were forming in the detectives eyes as his mouth went square and he sobbed his friend's name. The flames were leaping high and John had to jump back before he was engulfed.

"No, J-john. Don't g-go." He croaked.

"Im here Sherlock don't worry. The fire brigade are on their way."

"They'll be t-too late." He said before John saw his eyelids droop.

"No, please stay awake!"

As he said this, four men with buckets of water pushed past him and threw it into the burning 221B, the rest could be smothered with fire blankets. John immediately ran too his friend. He had blacked out, but he was still alive. His ribs were broken, he had lost a lot of blood, and he generally looked awful. He was slightly malnourished and his legs were badly burnt. His fists balled in anger. How could any human be treated this way?

The ambulance pushed past him and started to get the chains off with Lestrade's skeleton key. They got him on a stretcher that they had pushed into the charred room, and quickly pushed him off. John ran with them. Sherlock was beginning to wake up again. They loaded him into the ambulance.

"John….a-and.…Mackenzie" He muttered. They went in the ambulance with him, John knowing how much he hated hospitals. Greg and the others were chasing away the crowd, and watching from the back, umbrella protecting him from the rain, was Mycroft.

"I said I would always protect you, brother."

_Wow, I had chills writing some of this! Hope you enjoyed! J_


	12. Chapter 12

_Oh yeah, forgot to mention, that's NOT the last chapter, plenty more on the way _

Mackenzie sat by Sherlock's bedside, holding his hand tight. It had been two days since the rescue, and she hadn't moved, only to go to the bathroom. Sherlock had been unconscious since they had sedated him in the surgery room. John had bought her some new clothes, saying that the old ones were two ripped, which she reluctantly changed into, a purple and black jumper with a pair of jeans. They were comfortable and warm, unlike the others. Some of the nurses tried to move her but she said she couldn't leave, that he needed her, so they left her.

John came to check on her. She was still there, a blanket over her shoulders.  
"Hey." He said. She turned and gave a half smile.  
"Hey."  
"I brought tea."  
"Thanks, John."  
"Look, Mackenzie, can you come home, with me? It's not healthy staying here."  
"Please, he needs me. You said it yourself, he hates hospitals. And Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran are still out there. He's not safe alone…."  
"No offence, but he won't be much safer with just you as security."  
"I can box."  
"Yes but that's not the-."  
Suddenly, Mackenzie had jumped up and pushed John with her on top, tea flying everywhere.  
"Hey! What was that?"  
"A light! A red light was flashing on your top!"

John looked out of the open window. There was slight movement on the building opposite.

"I've got to go."  
"It's him, isn't it?"  
"Yeah, god I haven't done this in ages."  
"What chased a dangerous criminal through London?"  
"Yeah, have you?"  
"I've been chased _by _the police which is the opposite."

John quickly ran down the stairs, Mackenzie at his heels, going as fast as they could. They went out onto the street, where Mackenzie pointed out a man, with spikey blonde hair, running with a rather large suitcase. Sebastian Moran.

"Feeling fit?"  
"Yup."  
"Good, let's chase a criminal mastermind."

They ran through the streets, never loosing speed, as began to catch up. He turned a sharp corner, and by the time they had gone round it, he was gone.  
"He's gone into the sewers, no doubt about it." Said Mackenzie, going in.  
Mackenzie jumped in, followed by John. They went through entrances, jumped through holes, and eventually reached a dead end, when Mackenzie felt a small pressure at the back of her head.

"Don't move hands above your head." She obeyed. She saw Sebastian in front of her so she assumed Jim was holding the gun, which was strange, unless he had no intentions of firing it. Why the hell hadn't they rang the police before going in?John seemed to be thinking the same thing, when he came into her line of vision, held tightly by Sebastian.

"So, Mackenzie, we meet again."  
"Oh, what do you want now?"  
"Oh, getting feisty now, are we? You are to come with me, my dear."  
"Or what?"  
"Or Johnny boy gets it."  
"No, please don't."  
"I won't have too."  
"Why! Why do you want me? What did you find out about me?"

As she said this, the pressure stopped from the gun. She saw surprise on Sebastian's face, and pleasure on Johns.  
"Good boy, Mr Moriarty. Now kindly step away from the child." Said a voice, and sure enough, she heard the steps retreat. She turned around, putting her hands down. There was a slightly fat man in a suit with an umbrella and a gun. She smiled as if to say thanks.  
"You too please, Mr Moran." He said, and sure enough, Sebastian also joined him. She saw now that many men armed with guns were coming through and putting them in handcuffs. D.I. Lestrade joined them.

"John, Mackenzie! Good god, are you alright?" said Lestrade.  
"Fine, thank you One question though, who is he?" she asked.  
"That's Sherlock's brother, Mycroft. High up in the British government, has eyes and ears everywhere, loves cake." Explained John.  
"Well that's something we have in common."

Lestrade offered to drive them back to the hospital, which they agreed to, as he had told them Sherlock was stirring. When they got to the doors, Mackenzie ran as fast as she could to the stairs. Greg laughed a little, and John just smiled.  
"Sweet, isn't she?" Said Greg.  
"Brave little thing, as well. Getting from Brixton to Baker Street."  
"Yeah, they're tough on the street. Did you ever find out why they wanted her?"  
"Actually I was going to ask you about that. There's a lot to find out, are you going to take him in for questioning?"  
"Yeah, but as I said before, this has to be private. No press."  
"Of course not, but I know Sherlock will want to attend. Can you at least grant us that?"  
"He'd certainly enjoy it. Yeah, of course. He deserves to know first-hand."

Sherlock's eyes were bleary, but he saw the leaping flames, getting closer, and just through them was Jim Moriarty.  
"I meant what I said, Sherlock. I will burn the heart out of you. I just hoped it wouldn't have to be so soon. Join me Sherlock. Join the outcasts."  
"N-no…..never." he gasped.  
"Then you leave me no choice." he said, and he disappeared as the flames got closer. Sherlock screamed and his eyes opened wide, sweating and trembling.

John, Greg and Mackenzie were by his side. His vision was bleary from whatever drug they had given him, but he could just make them out. He saw that Greg was surprised, even a little scared. Mackenzie had rushed off, probably to get a nurse, but John was by his side, holding him close. Sherlock held him just as tight, his face burrowed into John's chest like a scared child to his mother, tears welling in his eyes. John rocked him slowly and Sherlock laboured breathing desisted. The nurse ushered them back, and took Sherlock's temperature and pulse. They were both unnaturally high, but she explained this was a side effect to waking up, and he was also in serious shock. When he had completely calmed down, the nurse explained where he was and the seriousness of his injuries, which were not as bad as they all had feared. His ribs were broken and would take a few weeks to repair and he had grade A burns on his legs and would need to walk with a cane or something. Other than that, his cuts and bruises were healing up nicely and he was back to bigger portions. Mackenzie's wounds hadn't been too much of a problem, just some plasters here and there and bigger portion sizes to help with her undernourishment after two and a half months in captivity.

She left them alone, and they decided John needed to be alone with Sherlock. The nurse told him he might have trouble speaking, but he seemed ok. The minute they were alone, John put a hand on his friends shoulder.

"Dear god, what did the bastard do to you?" he asked. Sherlock gave a croaky laugh.  
"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. But listen John, he's still out there, he'll be looking for you, him and Moran, he-."  
"We found him."  
"What?"  
"We found him about an hour ago, he's in a holding cell at the yard, going to be interrogated when we can have you as a witness. Thought you might appreciate it."  
"So…..you're safe?"  
"We all are, now. You have nothing to worry about. Just promise me you'll never do anything stupid like that again."  
"Trust me, I won't. Is Mackenzie ok?"  
"Absolutely fine, they just want her to see a therapist."  
"Yeah, that would help. She did spend eighty days in captivity. She isn't hurt?"  
"No, just malnourished. Right now we need to focus on you. You're in bad shape, mate."  
"I'll survive." John smiled  
"I know you will. Oh by the way I think Molly wants to see you tomorrow." Sherlock smiled.  
"I'd like that."

The nurse came in, and ushered John out saying the patient needed to sleep. John said goodbye, saying he would visit him tomorrow. Sherlock said bye back, and let his tired body go into a well-earned sleep. He thought of Molly as his brain plunged him into a dark world of nightmares waiting for him.

_More chapters coming! This Fanfic is almost (ALMOST, NOT YET WE STILL HAVE QUITE A BIT) coming to an end, and I need more ideas! I have a few, but your suggestions would certainly help! _


	13. Chapter 13

_Watching Top Gear J Hope you enjoy a little Sherlolly (not my favourite ship, but I think they deserve it.)_

Sherlock's recovery was not going as quickly as he had hoped. His legs burned with pain whenever the anesthetics wore off, and besides that he was lonely. John had to work, and he rarely got off, as a recent flu outbreak had hit London about five days ago, apparently. Greg, Irene and Mrs Hudson visited sometimes, but they didn't have a lot to talk about. John had made Greg _swear_ he wouldn't bring any cases up, Sherlock needed to rest. Irene had been happy to see Sherlock, but they didn't have too much to talk about. Mrs Hudson just worried, which wasn't what he needed. He never talked about his experiences, and they never brought it up. He was still in shock; it would only pain him to recall his horrific time in the sewers.

Then there was a knock at the door and Sherlock's nurse came in.  
"A Miss Molly Hooper to see you, Mr Holmes." She said.  
"Oh, please, send her in." he said eagerly.  
The nurse went out, and in came Molly looking anxious. She took one look at Sherlock and could do nothing to stop the tears that came. She went to Sherlock who painfully put an arm round her as she sobbed.  
"This….is….all….my…fault." She gasped.  
"Shhhh, don't worry, it's not your fault. You didn't know."  
"Im so sorry."  
"Look, all you did was help me. I would be dead now if it wasn't for you."

She got a tissue from her bag and wiped her eyes.  
"It's horrible, what he's done to you, you and the little girl. Do you know what is going to happen to her?"  
"They're going to rehouse her, after we sentence Moriarty. They'll probably just stuff her into a home somewhere, cut off all contact with me so as not to awaken distressing memories." He said, looking down.  
"I…I wish I could help." He now looked at her and smiled.  
" You've done enough." He said, taking her hand. She smiled back. He leant over, as did she, and he kissed her on the cheek, then on the lips.  
"I love you, Molly. I need you. When I'm out of this bloody place, how about a coffee?" Molly smiled and threw her arms around him.  
"I would like that more than anything." She whispered. He hesitated, but hugged her back. It was strange for him, but he liked it.

Mackenzie sat in the hospital canteen, sipping on café mocha, a blueberry muffin, untouched, in front of her. She was always hungry, nowadays, but she just didn't feel like eating. She was worried, worried about her future. She knew no foster home in Britain would want her, and she didn't want to go back to that orphanage. She rubbed at the scar on her cheek, thinking of the horrible memories in that black hole they called a care home. She saw someone sit in front of her, putting down a carrot cake. She looked up and saw the man who had saved her.

"You're Mycroft Holmes."  
"Yes, last time I checked."  
"Thank you, he-he could have killed me."  
"It's the least I could have done. Worried?"  
"Why should I be worried?"  
"Well your future is being decided for you." He said. She sighed.  
"I don't want to be back on the streets, but they can't put me back in that home."  
"What about a foster family?"  
"What foster family would want me?" Mycroft gave a small smile.  
"Stranger things have happened."  
"That horse becoming pope, for one."  
"A Blackadder fan I see."  
"My father showed it to me when I was young."  
"Oh really? Who was your father?"  
"Andrew Jones." She said. Mycroft paused.  
"I think I once knew an Andrew Jones."  
"It's a common name."

Mycroft's phone buzzed and he looked at the screen.  
"Sorry, I must leave you, lovely to have talked to you. Goodbye, Mackenzie Jones."  
"Goodbye, Mycroft Holmes." She replied with a smile as he walked off, leaving his cake behind him. She looked down at her cake, and began to eat. She always felt better in the company of someone she could trust. She dug into her cake, before starting on Mycroft's, feeling that good cake shouldn't go to waste.

From the day Molly visited, Sherlock's recovery took a turn for the best. Mackenzie visited him every day, more to reassure him than anything else, but also that her visit with Mycroft had really uplifted her, even if she wasn't quite sure why. Sherlock looked forward to these visits, he worried about her. He didn't want her to go back to that home; more than anything he wanted her with him. But he knew it just wasn't that simple. And every day, after Mackenzie's visit, Molly would come.

Sherlock really liked her, he didn't mind admitting it. She was so kind, she understood him. He didn't think he had ever felt about anyone the same way before. The day he got out, he would thank her, especially, be his first. Moriarty's harsh and sadistic treatment meant he was technically no longer a virgin, but this time it would be special.

On the night of his sixth day in hospital, his nurse was just scurrying about, cleaning up and injecting him before he fell asleep. He soon fell asleep, peacefully, thinking of Molly. He found himself back in the hospital bed, He looked round, everything was the same, but right in front of him, sitting comfortably was Jim Moriarty. Sherlock froze. Jim seemed to notice him.

"Oh, hello Sherlock! It's been a while hasn't it? Five days, Daddy's been missing his plaything."  
"Y-you aren't real, you're just a dream."  
"Why of course. Right now the bad bad men have locked me up at Scotland Yard, ready for you Shirly."  
"I don't understand, I know it's a dream, why can't I wake up?"  
"Ah, same old Sherlock. I believe that my dear, subconsciously, you don't want to wake up, do you? Still like the idea of criminal masterminds."  
"Why are you here?"  
"Oh, im not here at all. Im just a figment of your imagination. You know don't you Sherlock?" He continued, getting up and walking over to him. He stiffened, uncomfortably. "You know somewhere in that vast-yet-amateurish mind of yours that I will not stop till I get my way." He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He could feel his touch. Sherlock started to panic. "I will get to you Sherlock. Maybe it won't be the sewers next time (_Sherlock, are you ok?), _but we will be together." He felt sweat beginning to run down his face.  
"No, never." He whispered.  
"You see dear, I always get my way (_Sherlock, wake up!), _one way or another. Maybe it won't be Johnny next time. Perhaps Mackenzie."  
"No!" (_Sherlock, can you hear me?)  
_"Or maybe Miss Hooper."  
"NO!" He yelled in distress.  
Moriarty was laughing now, and shaking his shoulder.

Sherlock woke, terrified. He looked next to him and saw John shaking his shoulder.  
"Good god, are you ok?"  
"Yeah….yeah I'm fine."  
"Sherlock…."  
"I'm fine, John, trust me. Just…..w-when are we seeing him, at the yard?"  
"In about a week, the nurse says you'll be able to work on crutches then. Look, you don't have to go if it will cause you distress."  
"No, no, don't worry I'll be fine. I think it's good we see each other again."  
"Sherlock, you have every right to be scared. This man held you captive and tortured you for eighteen days. I would run ten miles from the guy." Sherlock looked up at him.  
"It's just….when we lock him away, in whatever asylum or prison cell they pick, how do we know he won't escape just as easily as it took him to gain entry." John smiled.  
"Because, there is one thing the great and powerful Jim Moriarty doesn't know about Pentonville Prison."  
"What's that?"  
"His dad has been there for twenty four long years."

_Dun, Dun, DUUUUUUN! Hope you are enjoying this Fanfic so far, again any ideas for my next one are welcome J_


	14. Chapter 14

_Second to last chapter (ooooooooh!) Thank you, to anyone who has favourited, followed, reviewed, or has just taken the time to read this, you rock!_

Sherlock and John sat in the cab, neither of them saying a word. Sherlock's crutches were on the floor beside him, he hated using them. But John insisted he do. Sherlock looked blankly out of the window, surveying the bleary streets of London. He was scared, almost terrified, to again see the man who threatened the lives of his friends just to get his plaything. Who had kidnapped a young, defenceless child and sentenced her to eighty days of captivity as a heartless revenge to her deceased family.

John watched this, wanting nothing more than to comfort his friend, but knowing he wouldn't accept it. Sherlock simply looked boredly out of his window. The only people attending were Him, Sherlock, Greg and two others for security reasons. Mycroft would be behind a one way mirror, possibly with Mackenzie.

They arrived, and were directed by a bewildered Sally Donavon. She watched Sherlock struggle with his crutches, attempting and failing to hide his anxiety. The lift was out of order so they had to use the stairs. Halfway up, Sherlock collapsed on the floor with a grunt, and John was certain this had nothing to do with the crutches.

"Come on, you can do this. At least do it to show Sally you aren't the psychopath she thinks you are." He John whispered. These words of encouragement got him back up and getting upstairs again, leaving his crutches behind. He limped, but he limped with pride.

They met upstairs, where Greg shook them by the hand. He noticed how Sherlock had flinched a bit upon contact, clearly terrified. Greg was concerned.  
"Look, mate, you don't have to do this if you aren't ready."  
"Of course im ready. Show us in." He said; ready to prove he could handle a man like Moriarty.

Mycroft and Mackenzie were behind the one way mirror. Moriarty was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, handcuffs around his wrists in front of him. For some reason his eyes didn't seem to focus. There were two burly looking men at each shoulder behind the chair, which reassured her a bit. She wondered if Sherlock would be ready, she had seen him not a day ago, and just mentioned Jims name, and it was enough to make him shuffle and not quite look her in the eye. She knew that they had a history, and the last few weeks must have really cracked him. Mycroft seemed to sense this uncertainty and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She looked at him and smiled.

"What have you given him?" She asked.  
"A quick mind, I see. How did you deduce?"  
"Eyes, unfocusing, pupils dilated, having trouble understanding his whereabouts shown from his uncharacteristic concern, where as it would be quite obvious if he could see. You've blinded him; I'm just wondering what you gave him." Mycroft smiled.  
"I guess you can't spend sixteen days alone with my dear brother without learning something. As for the drug we have injected him with, we found it in some sadistic little room in the sewers. We found samples of Sherlock's blood and soon figured out what had gone one in there. There was rather an interesting collection of needles. This one had only been used once, I've sent it to our researchers, they should have the analysis complete in several days."  
"Mmmm." She replied, rubbing her arm. Then Mycroft realised.  
"He didn't use that on Sherlock, did he? He used it on you."  
"Yeah, the only day he took me out of the cells. Don't tell Sherlock, please. He thinks that Jim only raped me."  
"Only?"  
"That's all I told him, he patched up the wounds incredibly. Promise?"  
"I won't breathe a word. So tell me, what kind of an effect does it have?" She smiled.  
"Well, you got temporary blindness right, and it causes the victim to experience a delirium of pain at intervals, also nausea. Not the nicest little thing from the chemist."

At that moment, the three men walked in. Moriarty raised his eyes and stared out with unseeing eyes.  
"Sherlock, how good to see you again. Well, when I say _see_." He said passing a hand over his face.  
"This is strictly business, Mr Moriarty. We hope we won't have to keep you here long. The lads over at Pentonville are _dying _to see you." said Lestrade in a very business-like tone. John went over and sat by Sherlock who was calm.  
"We have some questions for you, many questions. We hope not to take up much of your time."  
"Oh no, do go on."  
"This girl-."  
"Yes, little Mackenzie, is she here too?"  
"She's safe." Snapped Sherlock.  
"I see, yes what do you want to know?" Asked Jim, looking in the direction of Sherlock.  
"Your motivation for her kidnapping, why?" He asked. Jim tutted.  
"I thought I taught you a good lesson that day. That is strictly my business."

"Perhaps, but I don't see a whip in sight." Said Sherlock. John shuffled, realizing Sherlock had asked this a while ago and paid dearly for it.  
"As you see, you don't have much of a choice. Tell us." He said again, urgency filling his voice.  
"My lord, everyone seems to be so cut up about this one girl. Well, her Daddy was a special man. He worked with the angels in London; he was a very smart man. He worked with three other very smart men." He was reciting it like a fairy tale.

Behind the mirror, Mackenzie shuffled a bit, she knew this side of the story, and Mycroft was in deep thought. _Andrew Jones, of course we worked at MI6 together briefly. He, Kenning, Bruce, and Thompson were a squad of agents._

"They fought many bad men, and sent them to jail. One day, the heard of a great and powerful man, a man who would make many women happy, whether they wanted to or not. He taught his son his trade so that they could make many happy together. The men were scared of this great and powerful man, as some selfish women had made complaints, women who had escaped his clutches, and her Daddy and the men arrested the powerful man for it. But his son escaped and vowed he would one day avenge his father." Suddenly his voice and tone suddenly changed from his cutesy-piesy-Richard-Brook-story-teller to a sharp-venomous one.

"He vowed to kill the four men, and one day authority would bow down to him."  
"So, you killed her parents."  
"It was an icy day, they were driving. It was easy to make it look like an accident."

Through the mirror, Mycroft saw that Mackenzie was still neutral. She was hiding her pain.  
"Then why, why hurt her?"  
"I was slow back then, I didn't realise that back home there was a seven year old girl, waiting on her birthday for her parents to come home."

Now Mycroft put a hand on Mackenzie's shoulder. She looked at him, tears beginning to form in her sapphire blue eyes, and Mycroft did something no one had ever seen him do. He pulled her into a hug.

"You made her pay."  
"I wouldn't let them have the satisfaction of having their only daughter's wellbeing. When I found out I decided to make the runt suffer."  
"The others?"  
"Dead ages ago."  
"Ok next question." Said Lestrade.  
"Go ahead."

"The money, they money you wanted under Westminster bridge."  
"Well, honey, I think you have the relevant information to make a deduction."  
"Of course. The final blow, your ultimate plan to make sure that authority remembered your name."  
"Exactly, and what a plan it was. And with such a stake," John looked at Sherlock who looked down, "who could say no. I assume question time is over?"  
"Yes."  
"Good."

He clicked his fingers and before anyone could react, even the body guards, the room filled with gas. Moriarty produced a gas mask from his jacket and put it on. The people in the room fell to the floor coughing. Tear gas. Mycroft ran out, calling into his earpiece for security and telling Mackenzie to stay there.

Moriarty went up to Sherlock and put one foot on his chest and pulled out a gun.  
"Time to end this." He yelled. Sherlock looked up with teary eyes.  
"How can you-?" He began before breaking into a coughing fit.  
"I've been administering my special recipe for years; think I don't know the antidote?"

He was about to shoot. Mackenzie couldn't take it anymore, she took aim, stepped back and jumped clear through the mirror and landed on Moriarty. She had his round his throat. She had tears in her eyes but she didn't care. Too many people had died. Moriarty was surprised by her strength  
"You wouldn't kill me, you're not strong enough."  
"You killed my parents. You killed Jack. You're not going to have the satisfaction of killing him. I'm not going to kill you, though."  
"Why?"  
"Only Psychopaths kill."

As she said this, the door burst open and two armed men came in and took Jim roughly out of the room. She got up coughing. Mycroft came over.  
"Are you ok?"  
"Yeah, why?"  
"Because, Mackenzie, you just went headfirst through a mirror and landed on a psychopathic criminal."  
"Oh, yeah that."

She went to help up Sherlock, who was having trouble getting up on his damaged legs. John assisted her and Lestrade went to yell at the bodyguards, something along the lines of how-the-hell-could-you-let-him-bring-a-gun-in-here-and-what-the-hell-was-with-the-smoke?  
"The smoke was prearranged, kept in here for interrogation purposes. Easy to hack into via mobile I imagine, make it respond to a certain nose such as a click." Said Sherlock

"Well how in Christ's name did he get hold of a mobile?" asked Greg. One of the body guards felt his pocket and his eyes widened as he ran down the corridor. He must have gotten hold of it during his captivity. Mackenzie put a hand to her head, wondering how Scotland Yard hired such an incompetent idiot.

"Well now that's settled, might we get onto the subject of Mackenzie?" said Greg. The room turned to look at her and she went red like her hair.  
"No need." Said Mycroft. She looked at him confused. He went over to her and went down to her level. "Mackenzie, would you like to live with me?" he asked. Mackenzie's face stretched into a wide grin. "We would have to move about but something tells me you would like it." She wrapped her arms round him.  
"Yes, I'd love too." She said. Then she went off and ran to hug Sherlock. Sherlock was bewildered but hugged her back. He couldn't believe it! She would be ok; he would get to see her.  
"Well, now that's settled, we can go home. I need to talk to a certain security guard." He said. John went to go retrieve Sherlock's crutches from the stairs and Mackenzie went with him.

Sherlock walked up to Mycroft not looking into his eyes and said two words that Mycroft had never heard directed towards him in his life:  
"Thank you, Mycroft."

_Awwww J next chapters the last one. I have some ideas for the next Fanfic. A fantasy where Jim is kidnapped by vampires (not twilight, I promise) and Sebby saves him, Moriarty's true fear, a harry potter cross over, or a Les Miserables Fanfic about Valjeans time a slave. Please vote!_


	15. Chapter 15 and Epilouge

_Last chapter! No one told me which to do (Bit awkward!) but im going to do the vampire one. It's a bit of a 180 from after the fall, but it still has elements of hurt-comfort and I have a two great FFF (Fanfic friends) helping me with it! They also helped me a bit with this one so round of applause to Dark Magical Sorcres and Joo Lee (Both great FF Fanfic writers)!_

Jim waited in the cell in Scotland Yard. They had kept his handcuffs on so he wouldn't try anything funny. He crouched in the corner, they had taken his clothes from him and the cell was cold. He had a large bruise on his head from when that little brat had floored him and the rest of his cuts and bruises from the guards who had been ordered by Holmes senior to soften him up. He had no more plans; there would be no more miracles.

"Daddy, I've failed you. I'm sorry." He whimpered. _Snap out of it, Jimmy! _He had never whimpered in his life, he wasn't going to start now.  
The door opened and he looked up. Sebastian Moran, dressed in prison orange was pushed in with him. He ran to the distressed consulting criminal and embraced him.  
"Honey, what happened to you, what did they to you?" asked Sebastian. Jim gave a shaky laugh.  
"I'm ok. That little ginger bitch stopped me. She stopped me from killing him."  
"It's ok; they are moving you to Pentonville."  
"And you?"  
"….Wandsworth Prison." He said. Jim trembled.  
"We…..we'll never see each other again. We're both getting life. We, we'll…" his voice tailed off. Sebastian held him tight, kissing his forehead as he started to sob.  
"This isn't fair! Sebby, I love you, you can't…."  
"Baby, baby, im here. We will, we can write. I will make sure that we won't be parted forever, I promise."

They stayed there for a while, Jim sobbing, holding Sebastian whilst Sebastian held him, tears falling silently down his cheeks. Eventually, guards threw in a pair of keys and a prison jumpsuit. Sebastian undid Jim's handcuffs and helped him dress. They stood looking at each other. Sebastian wiped Jim's tears with his thumbs and kissed him.  
"It's gonna be ok, honey. Trust old Sebby." Said Sebastian. Jim laughed.

Two guards came in and grabbed them both and forced them out. Jim looked down his eyes closed. He didn't care what they did to him anymore. He just wanted to be left alone. The brought him outside and waited whilst they sorted something out with the truck. He looked around. People were getting into cars, getting out of cars, going out for a cigarette, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a man with black hair and a black coat, accompanied by a short man in a crème jumper, just about to flag a cab. Anger seized him and he attacked his guard and started to run over to them. They were on him immediately. They seemed to notice and turned, John horrified and Sherlock neutral.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD, THIS IS YOUR ENTIRE FAULT! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!" he yelled in distress as the guards grabbed him and stuffed him into the track as he continued to shout abuse. He was agitated the whole trip, occasionally muttering a curse to Sherlock Holmes and the "Ginger Bitch." Sebastian watched this, concerned. Soon they arrived outside Pentonville. It looked horrible. He didn't have long to look as he was soon shove by. He looked round whilst the guards talked at the gate and saw Sebastian through the van window.

"We will see each-other again, my love." He mouthed as the doors were shut and the van drove off. He was shoved inside the prison doors. He went through endless corridors and was soon shoved in cell number 24601. He looked around the room, there was a sink and lavatory in the corner and a bunk bed, and otherwise it was empty. But on the bed sat a man in his mid-sixties, so distant but so remarkably familiar.

"Daddy." He whispered. The man got up and ran over to where Jim's body had crumpled in a distressed heap. He embraced him, the prison years of loneliness and hate suddenly falling around him when he realised he was with his son once more.  
"Daddy, I failed you, I failed you."  
"Don't be stupid, Jim, I failed you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He whispered.  
"You taught me, you made me great, I was going to avenge you but I failed."  
"Don't talk nonsense. I'm here now, and I will never leave you now. Oh god, what did the bastards do to you?" Jim laughed and explained. It was a long, long story to tell.

Meanwhile, in a cab going to Baker Street, John was still shocked by what they had seen. Sherlock had shown no acknowledgement. He had simply watched the procession of events and then went back to hailing a cab. John understood that Sherlock had had enough of Moriarty to last a lifetime. Anyway, he couldn't wait to get back to Baker Street; Mrs Hudson had a surprise waiting for they went through the doors, the whole place was as clean as he had ever seen it , and a plate of Mrs Hudson's homemade tarts and tea waited, and pinned up was a banner saying "Welcome home!" Mrs Hudson emerged from the kitchen and Sherlock gave her the biggest hug, overwhelmed from her kindness, and so happy to be _home, _where he belonged. Seeing it perish in the flames had made him more anxious to be home than ever.

They sat and drank tea for a while, conversing about events that had happened and Mrs Hudson explaining she "Wasn't going to be doing these welcome home parties every day." Sherlock was glad, it made this more special. He lay back, deciding nothing could make this day better. He was out of the sewers, out of hospital, Jim was locked away where he could never ever hurt anyone again, and everyone he loved was safe. Then his phone buzzed.  
**So how about that coffee? Molly xx**

**_Epilogue_**

**_After that day, they arranged for Sherlock's grave to be removed and soon everything went back to normal. Irene moved back to England and continued her business as a dominatrix, but soon decided to quit so as to continue her relationship with John. When asked why she would quit something she loved so much, she explained she loved John more._**

**_ Jim and his father get on well in prison and he makes up for the years he neglected. Jim writes frequently to Sebastian and Sebastian writes back. If Jim keeps up the good behavior he has been promised Sebastian can visit._**

**_Mackenzie is having lots of fun with her new father, and has a luxurious bedroom in each of their houses, as well as three pet guinea pigs who she has called Sherlock, John and Jack. Mycroft is very happy with her progress with a private tutor and has given her lessons in chess and I believe he has also signed her up for violin lessons._**

******_Sherlock and Molly's relationship continues to thrive, though Molly wishes he would stop ruining the surprises she plans. She loves him as she always has, and he loves her back, and they hope to spend many more years together._**

******_So I guess you could say they all lived happily ever after._**

_Awwww! Sorry for the soppy fairy tale ending but it seemed right. Anyway, my next story should be out before long and is entitled 'Burning the hearts,' and my good friend Dark Magical Sorcres will be helping me. Thanks for reading!_


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